


A Brother's Hand

by SylvanWitch



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: "Brick", M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanWitch/pseuds/SylvanWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tappin’ that crazy bitch is your solution?”  This is a missing scene from 4:05, "Brick."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brother's Hand

“Tappin’ that crazy bitch is your solution?”

 

“Worked for you.”

 

“Jealous?”

 

Jax’s challenge hangs there for the time it takes Opie’s expression to shift, eyes hardening, mouth thinning. 

 

Ope takes a menacing step toward Jax, hands working, and Jax stays where he is, sitting on the picnic table, knowing Ope won’t make a move out here in front of God and everybody but almost wishing he would.

 

What the fuck is Jax thinking? 

 

But it’s Ope, and it doesn’t matter that seconds ago Jax was busting Opie’s balls for betraying Lyla and  fucking up his family, or that Ope did it by screwing the same coked-out whore Jax himself had used to do the very same thing to his own.

 

Doesn’t matter that Ope and Jax have covered this ground so often there’s a rut where their boots hit the dirt.

 

Doesn’t matter that they can’t—not now, not ever again.

 

Jax wants it, though, like he always does.  So does Ope.

 

Those big hands open and close, open and close, and Jax can almost feel the calluses against his dick, the rough twist Ope always made on the up-stroke, the way he felt safe in Opie’s hands, despite or maybe because of the size of them, the suggestion of violence, the brush of bruised knuckles against the tender skin of his belly, the way Ope would bend his head to rest against Jax’s, his hot breath washing over Jax’s face until he just had to turn his head and suck Ope’s lower lip into his mouth, bite down, feel the bristle of Ope’s beard on his chin, imagine it leaving a burn, wishing it would so everyone would know.

 

_Cocksucker._

  
_Pillowbiter._

 

Times like this, Ope close enough that Jax can smell him, the diesel on his boots, polished leather of his cut, sweat, road dust and something else, something Jax has known most of his life and that will always mean home to him—times like this, Jax wants to tell the club and Tara and the whole fucking world to fuck off.

 

“You know I am,” Ope answers at last, low, voice rougher than usual, broken over the admission and the ghost of words he doesn’t say.

 

Jax nods, tight, hates himself for digging up the corpse of what they’d been before duties and promises got in the way of the first great thing he’d ever had.

 

“Me, too,” he admits, not looking at Ope.  If he looks at him, lets him see what he’s hiding, what he always hides behind swagger and smiles, Ope will take that last step, spread Jax’s legs, force him down against the table and make him come without touching his naked cock even once.

 

Jax swallows a sound and slides off the table, takes a step or two to put the space between them like it should be, has to be.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says even as Ope says it too.

 

He nods, back to his best friend, his brother, squares up and sucks in a breath.  “Fix it with Lyla,” he orders like he’s got any right at all.

 

“I will,” Ope lies. 

 

And Jax believes it.  He’s got no choice.


End file.
